


The Haunted Heart

by Wolveria



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Twins, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Reader, Ghost Nines, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Halloween, Human AU, Human Nines, Monster Romance, Nines is a 200 year old ghost and he's Tired, RK900 is called Nines, RK900 is called Richard, Sleepy Hollow AU, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Needs a Hug, monster fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolveria/pseuds/Wolveria
Summary: You knew buying an old, creepy house would come with its own set of problems, but you never expected one of them to take the form of a tall, grey-eyed specter. One who was bitter, filled with anger, and determined to make your life miserable until you moved back out again.You weren't going anywhere. He may have had two hundred years of boiling resentment toward the living, but you were an exhausted Millennial with no money. Unstoppable force meets immovable object.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Original Female Character(s), Upgraded Connor | RK900/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 136





	The Haunted Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the ghost of you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27305740) by [aheadfullofdreams89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aheadfullofdreams89/pseuds/aheadfullofdreams89). 



> This fic was loosely inspired by both "Casper" and "Sleepy Hollow." Watched both recently over at my discord and a young Johnny Depp looks weirdly like an old-timey Connor. Which made me think of a Connor/Nines detective team chasing down serial killers in 1800. And what would happen if poor Nines died protecting his twin? You get a sexy, angry ghost is what.
> 
> Thank you Yvie for all your encouragement and support while we brainstormed the ghost RKs together. Go read her story for some tasty ghost Connor goodness.

Living in a haunted house was not the ideal choice. It wasn’t even in the top five on your bucket list.

But when you saw the foreclosed house for sale at such a reasonable price, and you were sick to death of your shitty apartment in the city, well… you got haunted.

Sometimes, these things happened. More often than not, they happened to you, and you wondered what you did to deserve it as something fell and broke in the kitchen. While you were in the living room twenty feet away.

“For fuck’s sake,” you grumbled under your breath. This was the fifth possession of yours that had broken this week alone. You’d only been living here a month, and already you were considering the perks of burning down the house and collecting on the insurance.

Except you didn’t have insurance. Or money. Or anywhere else to go. So you trudged into the kitchen and sighed at the broken plate, which had been very firmly placed in the sink. A sink so deep no plate could have fallen out unless it had grown hands and feet and decided to crawl out.

That’s not what had happened at all, of course. You weren’t losing your mind and you weren’t imagining things.

“Could you _stop_ breaking my shit?” you said to no one. You hoped no one heard you, and that no one would stop being the world’s biggest asshole. “I’m not leaving, so suck it up, Casper.”

After the glass shards were swept up and dumped into the trash, you returned to the living room where you’d been in the middle of unboxing your belongings. You didn’t have much, and the house came furnished, but it had been slow going when all your stuff kept disappearing or breaking.

Speaking of the house’s furnishings, you gave a glare to the extremely old brocade furniture and the tacky crosses hung up on the walls. If you’d actually had any money, you would have hired an interior decorator, because no one wanted to live in Norman Bates’ house.

Your resident poltergeist must have taken the hint, because there were no more shenanigans for the rest of the day. Nothing aside from the ominous creaking of the floorboards or the unsettling settling of the house’s bones. Part of you still couldn’t believe this place was yours, but you were determined to make it a home before it was all said and done.

No man, living or dead, was going to stop you when you set your mind to something, and your mind was set on domesticating a haunted house.

But the house wasn’t the problem. It was the entity who lurked inside.

* * *

You set your last packed book on the ancient bookshelf. The thing looked two hundred years old, but after you’d dusted and polished the dark wood, it had actually looked really nice. You didn’t know _bubkes_ about antique furniture, but it was sturdy and would probably last longer than you did.

Gratified at a job well done, you dusted off your hands and planned to make yourself a late night snack and zone out on your laptop. Continue that show you were binge-watching or indulge in a Halloween movie. Maybe even see if the boiler was working and you could take a nice hot bath—

_Thud._

Slowly, very slowly, so slowly it would have been funny to anyone watching, you turned and stared at the book lying on the floor.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, but you ignored common sense and walked over to the book, picked it up, and put it back on the shelf.

You turned away, walked exactly six feet, and another _thud_ sounded from behind you.

You took a deep breath, told yourself it was fine, everything was fine—

_Thud-thud._

You whirled around, heart leaping in your throat. Three books lay on the floor now, all from different shelves.

Before you could think about taking a step forward, another book was pulled down. And another.

With a violence you hadn’t seen before, the books all came out of the shelf at once, almost reaching you from the force used to dislodge them.

You flinched back, nearly stumbling on a wrinkle in the rug, the fear you’d been denying hammering away in your chest, but as you so often did lately, your terror curdled into bitter anger.

“Oh, _fuck you!_ Fuck you, you _son of a bitch!”_

The silent, still room echoed back your obscenities. With a shaky hand you rubbed your face. What were you still doing here? This was insane, and you were the idiot in the horror movie who the audience was rooting for to be murdered first.

But where else could you go?

Tears prickled your eyes. It was unfair. You didn’t deserve this, not after everything—

“This one isn’t going to last long. She’s cracked.”

You whirled around for a second time. There was a man standing behind you, the owner of the low, drawling voice. He was dressed in an old-fashioned black overcoat with a high collar and a series of buttons that traveled all the way down his torso. His dark brown hair was neatly combed, a stray lock brushing his forehead, and his eyes were grey and cold.

The man was pale, far too pale, and there was a mocking twist to his lips.

“Mad as a hatter,” he added. You almost turned your head to see if he was speaking to someone else. But there was no one. Just you.

“Excuse me?” For the moment, you were too confused and a little bit offended to be terrified. Or maybe you were in shock.

The smirk dropped off his face, and his eyes widened as if he too were confused.

“You can see me?”

“Uh… yeah?” You swallowed hard, trying to speak past your dry mouth. “I can see you.”

“Oh,” was all he said, exhaling the word in a breathless manner. But he didn’t need to breathe, did he?

“Who are you?” you asked, hoping to buy time enough for the universe to start making sense again. Or for you to wake up from the strange nightmare you were trapped within. “Why are you in my house?”

But the man, or the ghost, or whatever he was, wasn’t keen on having a conversation. Instead, with that panicked look as if he were the one seeing a spirit, he quickly turned and walked through the archway that led to the kitchen.

_“Wait!”_

Despite your instincts telling you to run the other way, you chased after him, bursting through the doorway to find the hallway empty. You pulled your jacket closed and shivered, but aside from your breath fogging in front of you, there was nothing else out of place.

Leaning against the archway, you braced your head against the wood and took another deep breath.

_Well, shit,_ you thought. _Casper is real._

That, or someone was playing a very cruel trick on you. Fishing wires and hidden trap doors could explain the creepy phenomena, but your gut told you it wasn’t a trick. The surprise on the man’s face was too genuine, as was the unnatural pallor of his skin.

Only one thing left to do: find a way to make contact with the tall ghost with eyes the color of tombstones.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the ghost of you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27305740) by [aheadfullofdreams89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aheadfullofdreams89/pseuds/aheadfullofdreams89)




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